


Closing the Gap

by IntoTheMiddleDistance



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Greg Lestrade to the Rescue, Greg is Sweet, Insecure Mycroft, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Mycroft Feels, Rescue, but Greg already knew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26347510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheMiddleDistance/pseuds/IntoTheMiddleDistance
Summary: Mycroft and Greg have been together for months now, and things are great - except Mycroft can't manage to tell Greg he loves him. (Greg already knows.) But it's really bothering Mycroft that he can't say the words. Greg's job is dangerous, and any day could be the day Greg doesn't come home.Mycroft didn't expect to be the one needing rescued, but when he's back in Greg's arms he's finally going to be able to tell the other man how he feels.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, mentioned Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 151





	Closing the Gap

**Author's Note:**

> Was really stuck writing this one until I realized that Mycroft could be the one who needed rescuing. So. 
> 
> Please note that up until Greg, Mycroft had zero experience being in a healthy relationship, so he's laboring under some major misconceptions.

Mycroft Holmes had always known that his boyfriend’s job was dangerous. In the back of his mind, every day he failed to tell Gregory he loved him, he wondered if this were the day his bright, beautiful Detective Inspector would be slain in the line of duty. It kept him up at night, the fear of losing Greg. For so many years, Mycroft Holmes had been an island, a man who had no one and needed no one. In the span of a few short months, Gregory Lestrade had changed all that. The man had the patience of a saint when it came to their relationship, always letting Mycroft set the pace and never pushing him before he was ready. They had finally kissed a few months ago, after three months of dating, and Mycroft had quickly become addicted to the feel of Greg’s mouth on his and the taste of the other man’s lips.

He wondered sometimes if any of the drugs Sherlock used had similar effects. Fortunately Sherlock was no longer doing drugs. He was instead doing his flatmate, John Watson. Their relationship was progressing a good deal faster than Mycroft and Greg’s because Sherlock had absolutely no impulse control. Not only had his little brother and the doctor already kissed, but the number of surfaces they’d shagged on made it almost impossible for Mycroft to enter the flat at 221B without deducing something he didn’t want to know.

Mycroft understood that intimate relationships developed at different rates, and that he and Sherlock were related by blood but were very different people. He also knew that Gregory never complained about the pace Mycroft had set. As amazing as it seemed, Mycroft could never detect any hints of frustration or anger in his partner, no indication that Greg wanted more than Mycroft was able to give. The older Holmes was more frustrated with their relationship progress than Gregory seemed to be. Greg loved him, he told him so every day, and he didn’t expect Mycroft to say it back until he was ready. And Mycroft _was ready!_ He’d tried so many times to return his boyfriend’s declarations of love, and yet each time the words froze on his tongue and would go no further. It was _infuriating_ , especially because he had so much control over so many things, the British Government included.

“Morning Myc,” Greg mumbled from the doorway, having slept over in one of Mycroft’s many spare rooms (yet another failing, he wasn’t able to sleep in the same bed as Gregory either, even though they would just be sleeping).

“Good morning, Gregory,” said Mycroft, sitting upright and pulling back the covers. When he stood and stretched, he noticed Greg grinning broadly at him.

“You’re wearing the pajamas I bought you,” said Greg, “and I don’t mind telling you, your arse looks fantastic in them.”

Mycroft flushed, but it no longer caught him off-guard when Greg expressed an interest in his physical form. He was used to thinking of it merely as a vessel (transport, Sherlock would say,) but Gregory found his body appealing and so Mycroft had begun to warm up to it.

“And I bet,” said Greg, crossing the room and wrapping Mycroft in a hug so he could whisper in his ear, “they’ll look amazing on my floor someday.”

 _Someday_. Mycroft returned Greg’s embrace, enjoying the feeling of Greg’s arms around him, strong and secure and safe. Loath to let go, he allowed the moment to stretch on until finally Greg said,

“We’ll be late for work, darling. The government will collapse.” He released Mycroft from his grip and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“I think it will manage if I get dressed first,” said Mycroft, returning the kiss.

Gregory was already fully dressed, but Mycroft’s alarm hadn’t even gone off yet. Usually he was the one who woke Greg up. He glanced surreptitiously at his clock.

“No, I didn’t let you sleep in, nor did I fiddle with your alarm,” said Greg, who had done both of those things on occasion when he felt Mycroft could use an extra hour of sleep, “I’ve got to get to the office early today, that’s all. Got a Sergeant who’s testifying as lead witness at a trial today and he’s never done it before. Promised I’d give him a bit of help but of course it’s an early morning hearing.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a great help,” said Mycroft, “Do you have time for coffee? I’ll get a pot started.” 

“God bless, my love, I could go for a cup of coffee.”

And Mycroft had to kiss him again.

*****

Watching Mycroft walk around the kitchen in his pajamas, completely at ease, made Greg’s heart beat a little faster. When they’d started dating, he’d barely been able to touch the redhead’s hand without the other man recoiling in surprise. The Mycroft Holmes of almost six months ago would never have been seen without his armor in place, his impeccable 3-piece suits. And make no mistake, those suits absolutely did something for Greg as well, but this – this was a view no one else got to see. This man, this Mycroft Holmes, was _his_.

Greg inhaled deeply, filling his nose with the scent of Mycroft’s expensive coffee. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be late to meet Terry because he’d have to _take care_ of something before work. Greg discreetly adjusted his trousers; thankful Mycroft’s back was turned so his boyfriend wouldn’t see. He’d sworn he wouldn’t push Mycroft to take their relationship further until the other man was ready. If he had to go wank in the bathroom after watching Mycroft walk around in his pajamas (they really did make his arse look wonderful), his genius love would deduce it and be sent into another one of his self-loathing spirals.

For someone so attractive who wielded so much power, Mycroft Holmes was inexpert at dealing with his own relationship, and Greg knew how much it frustrated him. All he could do was remind Mycroft that he was willing to wait as long as it took for him to work past his issues, because he loved him and wanted to be with him. Greg had never loved someone, not even his ex-wife, as much as he loved Mycroft. What they had was _real_. He would spend the rest of his life reassuring his boyfriend that he wasn’t going to walk away from this, from them.

Greg leaned over and set his arms on the kitchen island, effectively hiding the lower half of his body in a non-suspicious way. He continued admiring Mycroft as the man turned and slid a travel mug across the countertop.

“Cheers, darling,” said Greg, taking a large swig. It was just the way he liked it. Mycroft took a smaller sip from his own mug, and Greg grinned at him.

“Gorgeous,” he said, “I should take a picture and frame it.”

Mycroft flushed a little but returned Greg’s smile. When they’d started dating, he hadn’t known how to take Greg’s teasing, and Greg had dialed it back so Mycroft could get used to it. Now he was free to tease the other man to his heart’s content, be rewarded with Mycroft’s blush, and also be certain he hadn’t accidentally crossed a line.

“You’re incorrigible, Gregory.”

“You love it,” said Greg, and noticed Mycroft’s forehead crease a little as though he wanted to say something but the words wouldn’t come. Greg was familiar with that particular facial expression, so he got rid of it by kissing Mycroft.

“I’ll see you tonight, darling. Are you still able to come to mine after work? I’ll cook real food and everything – no takeaway.”

“That sounds delightful,” said Mycroft, “as far as I know there are no obstacles.”

“Barring World War III,” said Greg, earning another small smile.

“Barring World War III,” Mycroft agreed. “See you this evening, Gregory.”

And Greg left his boyfriend’s house in a spectacularly good mood.

His good mode lasted up until Donovan slid a file of paperwork across his desk.

“It’s one of the ones the freak worked on, so you’ll have to pin him down and get him to explain how he solved it, I’m sure as hell not going to.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Greg retorted.

Donovan was a close friend and a coworker, but the animosity between her and Sherlock made his life extremely difficult. Dating John Watson had mellowed the Consulting Detective somewhat, but Greg was still the only one he would talk to about cases with only a minimum of insults and eye rolling. Sally shrugged.

“I call them like I see them. I know he’s useful, but he’s still a freak. Anyway, that one and its paperwork are all yours. I’ll trade you, I’ll take the Tennant case off your hands.”

“That one’s almost finished!” Greg said. Sally grinned at him.

“I know.” And she walked away.

Greg flipped the case file open, sighed deeply, took out his mobile, and rang Sherlock. The sooner he spoke to the other Holmes, the longer he would have to take Sherlock’s deductions and make them into something that could be understood by someone reading a police report. 

“You’re calling about Mycroft,” said Sherlock immediately.

“What? No, I’m-“

“Really? Can it be that you’re not aware of what is currently happening?”

Greg’s blood ran cold.

“Explain.”

“Maybe if you turned on the radio in your office every once and while, you would-“

“Sherlock! I am at work! I am busy! I can’t focus if I turn the radio on! What is happening?”

“Sherlock,” Greg could faintly hear John’s admonishment on the other end of the phone.

“Yes, fine. It seems that masked figures with guns have infiltrated a government building and taken several important government officials, as well as a few minor ones.”

Greg’s heart dropped into his stomach. Mycroft. He hung up on Sherlock. 

“Sally!” He shouted as he ran through the office, “I’m out of the office the rest of the day! Unavailable!”

He didn’t even hear her reply.

*****

When Mycroft woke, he immediately took stock of his situation. His head was throbbing and bleeding where he’d been knocked unconscious, he was blindfolded, and he was tied to a chair, but other than that he seemed to be unharmed. The situation was not ideal, but he’d been held hostage before (many, many years ago). It was simply a matter of figuring out who’d taken him and what they wanted, and then stalling them until he was rescued. He was the British Government, he would absolutely be rescued. He wished he knew how long he’d been unconscious. In these types of situations, there were steps that were followed, in order, and he knew how long each step usually took. Without knowing the time, he had no idea how far along in the process they had gotten. It made his next move harder to plan. For the moment, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Mycroft’s next thought, a terrible sentiment that worked its way into his brain, was that he might be late for dinner with Gregory. He might not make it to dinner at all, and Greg wouldn’t know what had happened. Mycroft’s chest tightened. The thought of Greg alone in his flat, waiting for Mycroft who never showed, was far more painful than his head wound. It was possible he’d never see Gregory again. Depending on who had taken him and why, he could be killed. And he had never told Greg he loved him. Behind the blindfold, a tear almost escaped. When he was rescued, the moment he saw Greg again, he would tell him, nerves be damned. Greg was too important not to know that Mycroft was hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with him. He’d been in love with Greg the first moment he’d laid eyes on him, of course he had. Who _couldn’t_ love Gregory Lestrade? The man was the most supportive (the only supportive) person in Mycroft’s life.

“I love you,” Mycroft whispered out loud into the silence of the room. He had to get the words out in the open, get them past his lips. When he laid eyes on Greg again, he’d be able to say them again, and there would be no doubt that he meant them.

A door creaked. Mycroft immediately feigned sleep again, trying to bring himself back into the moment. He could figure this out. Footsteps, what could he deduce? Boots on concrete, he was probably in some sort of cell. Or a bunker, underground. Possibly left over from WWII. His captor had a limp; one foot lingered on the ground slightly longer than the other.

“Look who’s awake,” a foot nudged Mycroft’s, “don’t try and pretend otherwise.”

Male voice, strong Russian accent – fake. The man couldn’t actually tell Mycroft was awake, he was hoping Mycroft would give himself away. Mycroft kept his breathing easy and his head lolling, not ready to be ‘awake’ just yet. There were footsteps coming from above him. He was almost certainly underground.

“Hey! Wake up!”

Another nudge of Mycroft’s foot, impatient. If he kept feigning sleep, he suspected the next step was physical violence. He wasn’t interested in being on the receiving end of that, so he decided his best option was to ‘wake up.’ He groaned, let his head come up a little, let his body try and stretch only to be met with the bonds keeping him on the chair. Zip ties, not rope, which was a relief. If he had to, if the right moment presented itself, he could break zip ties and get the blindfold off his head. Beyond that he really wasn’t sure. Mycroft hadn’t been a field agent in over 20 years. He’d have to take his time and form more of a plan.

“What – where am I? Who’s there?” He let his voice quaver a little, playing hapless, low level government official.

“So glad you could join me,” said the man, “Mycroft Holmes.”

Mycroft felt a flash of panic. If his kidnappers had any sort of connections they could use his name, look him up, and they’d learn he wasn’t a minor government official. No doubt things would escalate from there. Mycroft let himself gasp, for the show of it. He still had time.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know lots about you, Mycroft Holmes. Your colleagues have been very talkative.”

That was a lie, he could tell. The man wanted to see what he could get Mycroft to admit. He was searching for information he could use, and not doing a very good job of it.

“I- I’m nobody. What did they tell you?“

“They said –“ The man paused.

Above them, there was the sound of a door slamming, shouting, and pounding on the ceiling as though multiple people were running. If Mycroft had to guess, he’d say he was probably about to be rescued. A few gunshots rang out.

“Shit, shit!” The man abandoned Mycroft and ran. A louder shot not far away indicated that he hadn’t made it far. Someone different entered the room. Familiar hands removed his blindfold. Blinking in the sudden surge of light, Mycroft initially thought he was seeing things.

“Gregory?”

Gregory Lestrade, in full riot gear, gave him a shaky smile.

“Hi Myc.”

With a quick, efficient movement, Mycroft broke the zip ties binding his wrists and threw his arms around Greg, who returned the gesture immediately. He breathed deeply, inhaling Greg’s scent and letting the fear-fueled adrenaline drain out of his body.

“Not that I’m not elated to see you, Gregory, but – _how_ am I seeing you? These types of things aren’t really your division.” 

“Went to Uni with the head of Special Ops. He owed me a favor, so I cashed it in.”

Mycroft stared at him, stunned.

“You certainly did,” he said after a moment.

“C’mon, darling, let’s get out of here. They’ll need your statement, of course, and mine, but that can wait a bit. I promised I’d make dinner, and I’d wager you could use some food. And I’ll get out my med kit and patch up your head.”

Greg planted a kiss just below the wound on Mycroft’s temple. It had stopped bleeding but Mycroft was sure it would bruise and might even need a stitch.

“If you’d rather have a doctor look at it, I can ask John to come over and-“

“I’m sure your medical knowledge will be sufficient,” Mycroft said hastily. The last thing this day needed was Sherlock’s opinions, and if John came to the house Sherlock would absolutely come with him.

“Let’s go home, love,” said Greg. He released Mycroft from their embrace but kept their hands linked.

*****

Safely back in his flat, Greg could only bear to let Mycroft out of his sight briefly so that the man could get a shower. Anthea had shown up at Greg’s flat shortly after they’d arrived, bearing an overnight bag for Mycroft. It was uncanny the way she managed to know what Mycroft would need before he needed it.

To keep himself occupied while Mycroft was in the bathroom, Greg started on dinner, keeping himself calm by listening to the water running in the shower. When the water stopped, he called out,

“Alright, Myc? Want me to come have a look at your head?”

“Please, Gregory.”

Greg opened the bathroom door, releasing the steam from the shower, and got the med kit from under his sink. The wound thankfully didn’t look like it would need stitches, so Greg simply slathered it in ointment to keep it protected and promote healing.

“You want an ice pack for the swelling, love?”

“I think I’d better. There will be a nasty bruise there for at least a week as it is.”

Greg kissed him affectionately on the forehead.

“Come and have dinner and I’ll get you some ice.”

Mycroft obediently followed Greg into the kitchen. Anthea had packed his pajamas, and that was what he was currently wearing. Greg set a large bowl of soup in front of him and went to the freezer to grab an ice pack.

“Gregory?” Mycroft said, sounding unsure. Greg turned back towards him, frowning a little at the expression on the other man’s face. Mycroft Holmes was confident and self-assured in every aspect of his life, except when it came to their relationship. It sometimes seemed like he was just waiting for Greg to realize he was too good for Mycroft and leave him for someone else.

“I know I’ve never told you before, though I absolutely should have, but I do want you to know – I love you. And I’m not just saying it because today was terrible and I worried I wouldn’t get the chance to. I suppose that’s part of it, but- ” 

“What are you talking about, you berk? You tell me you love me every day, all the time! Of _course_ I know you love me.” 

“I – I’ve never said – “

“Sure, you’ve never said the words, Myc, but I know.” Greg closed the gap between them and took both of Mycroft’s hands in his. “I know you love me, Mycroft Holmes. It’s in the way you stalk me through your CCTV cameras to make sure I’m safe, every time you move closer to me on the couch when we’re watching a film, how you have my takeout order memorized for every restaurant in town. You _show_ your love all the time. I say it because I like to say it and I think you like to hear it, but I don’t need to hear the words, Myc. I just need you.”

Mycroft was looking at him as though Greg was the only person in the universe.

“Gregory Lestrade,” he said, slow but sure, “I would do anything for you. _Anything_. Do you want to be King? Prime Minister? Would you like the Crown jewels? Or maybe a small island? Name it, it’s yours. You’re extraordinary. I love you.”

Greg’s brain seemed to have completely shut off, but there was only one way to respond to such a declaration He grabbed Mycroft’s shoulders and kissed him.

“I love you, Myc.”

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's probably pretty obvious I've never written any sort of kidnapping/rescue scenes before, so hopefully that wasn't too idiotic.
> 
> I personally view this as the third part of a series with some of my other Mystrade fics. Should I officially connect them all with a series tag/link/whatever? 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


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